


take good care of those in your care

by Oparu (USSJellyfish)



Series: in the starry dark [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/USSJellyfish/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: Michael has to be acting captain for the first time officially when Philippa catches a virus.Set a few years before the Battle of the Binary Stars.
Relationships: Michael Burnham & Philippa Georgiou
Series: in the starry dark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117022
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely a companion piece to Firefly, events in this fic are mentioned in that one. 
> 
> It was a fun character study to write Michael & Captain Philippa, especially so early on their time together. They're so different from Michael and the former Emperor.
> 
> Many thanks to Sha and Tina for reading and Maria for her very excellent notes.

"Number one, can you join me in the ready room?"

Sitting in the captain's chair during beta shift, Michael tilts her head, surprised at the request. "Yes, Captain." 

She thought Captain Georgiou had finished her paperwork and left for her quarters hours ago. It's well past the end of alpha shift and creeping into the small hours of ship's night. It's not unheard of for Georgiou to work late, but not common. They're travelling at warp from a diplomatic mission to a purely scientific study of a stray comet, and that's hardly a crisis. 

Georgiou has always told Michael that you can't ask your crew to balance their work and their lives if you don't do it yourself. No part of visiting a comet, or the completely routine water rights negotiation between two colonies sharing a world, is worth Georgiou working this late, and breaking her own rules. 

They received a few communications from the colonies after they left yesterday, but they were routine: a few cases of Tarkelean fever, some blight on the winter wheat, and a request for more industrial replicators on the next supply mission. Tarkelean fever is a harmless childhood disease, Michael had it on Vulcan as a child, so did Spock, and hopefully the children on the colony will recover as quickly as they had. 

Michael turns the conn over Ensign Connor and walks into the ready room. 

Georgiou has most of the lights turned down and she's lit faintly by the light of her workstation and the blue rush of warp outside the window. That's a little strange, Georgiou usually has the lights on unless she's using her telescope, but there's nothing to see at warp. 

"Number One, are you well?"

Michael begins to protest the odd question, but Georgiou continues. 

"Humor me."

"I'm well, Captain." 'Humor me' often means waiting for the captain's human idiosyncrasies to reach a not quite logical conclusion. 

Georgiou sits in silence for a moment. When she speaks, Michael tenses when her words register. "Computer, transfer command of the _USS Shenzhou_ to Acting Captain Michael Burnham, authorization Captain Philippa Georgiou-" she pauses, clearing her throat, "epsilon sigma eight." There's something strange in her voice, a waver Michael's never heard. 

She worries about that for a moment until it sinks in what Georgiou's just said. Acting Captain? She's not ready. She's only been in command for short stretches, a few hours at a time, when Georgiou is on missions, and never officially. She can't be in charge, not with Georgiou on board. Except, now she is. 

Is Georgiou going somewhere? Is something wrong? Is it a test to determine Michael's ability to handle shock? Her stomach twists into a knot of anxiety and crawls up into her throat. 

"Captain? What are you--" Michael begins and the computer speaks over her. 

"Authorized, Acting Captain Michael Burnham is now the commanding officer of the _USS_ _Shenzhou_." She's captain now, at least as far as the computer's concerned. All the command codes, the day to day functions of the ship: they're hers.

Georgiou rests her hands on the desk, and sighs. A tricorder sits open on the desk, flashing gently. "Well that's done. Acting Captain Burnham--" 

"Captain!" Michael repeats in surprise. "Is this a prank? Is Saru in the corner?" This has to be a bad attempt at humor. Something Georgiou came up with to teach her the meaning of jest. 

Instead of getting up, Georgiou waves her over to the desk. "Number One--"

Crossing the ready room, Michael circles the desk, moving to stand beside her. Is there something she wants her to see on the computer? "What is going on?"

The message on the screen is from the colony. It's a brief note from the colony's medical staff warning that a paramyxovirus, commonly known as Tarkelean fever, is spreading through the colony. 

That doesn't connect to Georgiou making her captain. She's obviously very committed to this prank, whatever it is. "Yes, Captain, I saw that come through. For one thing, it is barely more debilitating than a common rhinovirus. Nothing they should require additional support for. Unless it affects many members of their adult population at once, which would be highly unlikely, even then, it's easily treatable with rest and fluids."

Do they need to go back to the planet? Is she testing Michael's medical knowledge? Does Michael have to lead a mission back there because she's already had it?

Georgiou rubs her temples, then her forehead, wincing a little. "You're correct, Michael. The colonies should be able to handle their outbreak. However, Sickbay has already reported two cases here, and they were both on the away team with us."

The away team was Michael, Georgiou two security officers and several engineers. If they already have two cases in Sickbay--

"You made me captain because you're sick?" Michael says in shock. That's not- there has to be someone else, they can warp to a Starbase, borrow a captain somehow. It can't be her. She's not. This is incredibly illogical, frustratingly human behavior. "Oh no, Captain, I-- Did you contact sickbay?" 

"You said it yourself, it's a harmless disease, I was just going to go to my quarters-" she says, halting again as if she had to think of the word. Georgiou's tiny smile fades. She says something in Malaysian that Michael can't follow, but the emotion behind it is gentle and resigned. 

This is a childhood illness. It spread around Vulcan, causing little concern. Michael and Spock only stayed home a day from the learning center. Georgiou is hardly a child, how can she be ill now?

"Didn't you have this as a child, Captain?" 

Georgiou shakes her head weakly, her voice soft and tired. "No, Number One, it seems I did not." 

Michael relaxes a little. "I was eleven, Spock and I both had it."

"You were fine?"

"We recovered well, Captain. It can be much more serious in adults, you should go to Sickbay.". 

"Number One--" Georgiou reaches for her hand, trying to calm her. It's worked before, and the contact usually reminds her of Amanda's gentleness, or her mother, but this time Georgiou's hand surprises her, her skin hot and dry. 

"You're burning up." Without thinking, Michael reaches for her forehead, and holds her hand there. "You have a high fever." Her thoughts trail back for a moment. "You picked at your food at dinner, even though that was one of your favorites and you didn't comment when Saru and I were nice to each other."

Georgiou smiles a little, tolerating Michael's concern. "I did notice that, but I already had a headache. I hoped it would go away."

Releasing her forehead, Michael picks up the forgotten tricorder on the desk and looks at the graph of Georgiou's body temperature. She's been collecting data since eighteen hundred hours and her body temperature rises steadily, then spikes in the last hour. "Your fever is forty point three." That's hardly mild, nor harmless. 

Georgiou leans back again, tilting her head to the side as if it's too heavy to keep upright. "I saw that too, Number One."

Michael sets down the tricorder and shakes her head. "Why are you still here? You should have gone to Sickbay hours ago, there's nothing to be gained by forcing yourself--"

Georgiou lifts a hand, stopping her. "I marked the departmental responsibilities for the survey of comet Lambda three-seven and left you a detailed list of what to prepare for the mission to Betazed after that."

"Our mission to Betazed is in six days, we'll have plenty of time to--" Michael stops, realizing that Georgiou's worried she won't be well enough by then. She's already too ill to maintain control of the ship and taking precautions in case her condition deteriorates. It's logical, and wise, yet completely terrifying. 

"You wrote notes? For hours?" Michael asks. It's very thoughtful, and Gerogiou is always kind, but it does not seem like a good use of her time, especially when she's so ill. Standing beside her, Michael realizes that Georgiou hasn't stood up yet because she may lack the strength to do so on her own. 

Georgiou pats her hand again. "You might need my notes..."

"You'll be here," Michael says, offering both of her hands to help Georgoiu to her feet. "It's a routine mission. It's a comet, you were just joking that the science departments could handle this one in their sleep." Georgiou reaches Michael's hands, but her fingers are clumsy, weak, and Michael changes her grip to take her arms instead. 

"Should we use the site-to-site transporter?"

Georgiou's frown is immediate. "I can walk, it's hardly an emergency."

Michael rolls her eyes, providing much of the strength and most of the balance required to get Georgiou up on her feet. "Walking might be an overestimate of your current capabilities." 

Georgiou keeps hold of her, steadying herself. "Are you accusing me of hubris, Number One?"

"I'm calculating how difficult it'll be to carry you to the turbolift if you pass out."

They take a step, then another, and Georgiou releases her arms. Then she sways a little, like the deck is moving underneath her feet, and carrying her might be more likely than she wants to admit. 

"I'm certain I can carry you if I need to," Michael says, offering her hands again. 

"I don't doubt you, Captain," Georgiou teases back. She accepts Michael's support, and that worries her even more. 

Michael winces, because this is wrong. She's doesn't think she's ready, but she doesn't have a choice. Logically, it is the duty of the first officer to guide the ship during these situations and perhaps there's something Dr. Nambue can do to get Georgiou on her feet again. A quiet, very human, little voice in the back of her head remembers that there was nothing on Vulcan to treat this, and even with all their advances in medicine, some things have to run their course. 

"Sounds weird when you say it."

"Try to get used to it--" Georgiou starts to tease her, then her eyes widen, white with surprise, and she folds at the waist, vomiting suddenly on the deck, and Michael's boots. 

She mutters a curse Michael's never heard before, and she thought she knew most of the Malaysian swear words, but it seems there were some Georgiou held back. 

Georgiou chuckles, weakly, it's almost coughing and for a moment Michael thinks she'll vomit again, but it seems to be over. 

"If I'm in charge, do you have to listen to me?" Michael guides them around the mess. 

"I'm not part of your chain of command," Georigou teases, letting Michael lead her on a dry path towards the turbolift. "I'm--" she pauses, frowning. She finishes with a few words in Malaysian that Michael doesn't know. 

"Are you all right?"

"I can't." Georgiou leans against the wall, still holding onto Michael with her other hand. "They're just not--" She rolls her eyes. "I can't think in English when I'm tired. "

They step into the turbolift, Georgiou leaning heavily on the metal rail, frowning before wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "Dr. Nambue can--"

"Give you a piece of his mind for being so irresponsible with your health-" Michael pauses, about to say 'captain', as she always does, but Georgiou's right. Michael is the captain right now. "Philippa."

Georgiou looks at her, smiling, as if it's the most amusing thing Michael has said in days. "Philippa?"

"Well you're not the captain right now, are you?" Michael teases, sounding more like Amanda than she realized she could. "You need rest."

"I-" Georgiou stops again, forming a word and giving up. She nods. 

"Does your head hurt?"

Georgiou says something else in Malaysian that Michael doesn't understand, then pauses, losing her smile. "Dammit."

"Should I get my universal translator?"

"Very funny, I should teach you more Malaysian, it would be useful." 

The turbolift stops and Michael takes her hand again. Georgiou puts an arm around Michael's shoulders, letting Michael take most of her weight. 

"This is why you handed off command."

"I knew it might be a problem."

"Might?" Michael leads them to the doors of sickbay and pauses, opening the door.

Georgiou sighs, one of her hands on the wall, the other still around Michael's neck. "I didn't think it would be this bad." 

She knew she was sick, and tried to finish everything for Michael, which is the kind of illogical thing Georgiou would do to make it easier to experience command. "Whatever Dr. Nambue says, you deserve it." 

"Captain, Commander, let me guess, you have Tarkelean fever symptoms." He grabs a hypospray and fills it on the way to the bed. "Headache, fever, loss of appetite."

"She threw up."

Georgiou shoots Michael a look of mock betrayal but nods. Michael helps her up to the biobed, really, she lifts her, but she'll never tell. 

He presses the hypospray to her neck and frowns. "I'd like you to know that both Ensigns who contracted this came in hours ago, and their fevers were much lower than forty point three." Dr. Nambue studies the biobed's monitors and shakes his head. 

"Captains work hard to be the worst patients," Georgiou says, lying back. 

"Do they cover that in command training?" Michael teases, standing beside the bed. She glances down and her boots are messy. She's been tracking all over the ship. The automatic cleaning system will get it, but it's a first. 

"One of the last things." Georgiou shuts her eyes, folding her hands over her stomach. 

Michael straightens her hair without thinking, then touches her hand. 

Georgiou squeezes her fingers. "You'll be great, Captain."

"You're delirious," Michael teases. "Your opinion might be unreliable."

"Only a little."

"You're pretty close to delirium," Dr. Nambue says, clicking his tongue. He brings the hypospray to her neck and it again. "The first one will lower your fever before you damage anything, and this will help with your headache. However, you're off-duty for the next forty-eight hours." 

Forty-eight hours? That's eight times longer than Michael's been in charge of the ship before. Two days where  _ Shenzhou _ is her responsibility, perhaps longer. Georgiou is here, but she's not going to be- Michael can't- and that weight settles heavy on her shoulders.

"I thought this was harmless," Georgiou says, opening her eyes wearily. "Michael was barely ill when she had it."

Dr. Nambue touches a few indicators, checking for inflammation of her brain. "Michael was a child."

"It's not the light-years this time, it's the years?" Georgiou's too amused to be offended but Dr. Nambue rolls his eyes. 

"Puberty is the problem with this virus. Something about how the immune system matures makes a mess of things. You should have caught it a couple decades ago." He checks the readouts one more time and nods. "All right, Captain One, go to bed. Captain Two, keep us out of trouble. The rest of the away team seems fine, so we're only down three."

"Growing up in paradise finally has a downside," Michael says, offering her hands to help Georgiou up. It takes her and the doctor to get Georgiou sitting again and there's something so unsteady about her that Michael keeps a hand on her shoulder. 

"Someday, I'll have to show you," Georgiou replies, far more gently than Michael expected. "The beaches are beautiful."

Michael grew up on starbases and outposts, then Vulcan, which all had their own beauty, but the holos she's seen of Pulau Langkawi are something in another realm. "You're so tired you're getting sentimental."

"Should I arrange for site-to-site transport?" Dr. Nambue asks.

Georgiou slides off the biobed onto wobbly legs, but Michael steadies her. Her eyes are a little clearer now that her fever's coming down. "We'll manage."

"Come before you hit forty degrees next time, please."

"And take away the fun you have scolding me?"

"It might protect Acting Captain Burnham's boots."

Now Dr. Nambue's earned a glare, but Georigou chuckles a little, patting Michael's arm. "I'm sorry." 

"They'll clean." Michael still has a hand on her back, but Georgiou's steadier now. "I'll walk you to your quarters."

"Fishing for last minute command advice?"

"Yes, it has nothing to do with you being a little shaky." 

"Oh good, I like it when you leave my pride intact." She touches Michael's shoulder, but it's more in approval than a need for balance. 

Michael's mind wanders through everything she'll have to do. The captain's on the bridge or in the ready room for alpha shift and the beginning of beta shift, she has three staff meetings that she would have attended as first officer, but now she'll be running them. She'll also need to check in with all her departments about inventory and what they'll be picking up on Starbase Thirty-One. 

And paperwork, and whatever Georgiou's notes say. 

They stop in front of Georgiou's quarters and she smiles at her. "You'll be great, Captain." 

"Thank you, your delirious confidence is appreciated."

Georgiou chuckles and taps the controls to open the door. "I'm here if you need anything."

"I won't bother your convalescence."

"I'll be bored by dinner, so come eat with me. Use it as an excuse to get off the bridge."

"Yes, Captain."

Georgiou shakes her head, smiling. "I thought you were calling me Philippa today."

Michael opens and closes her mouth. "I'll work on it."

"Good night, Captain Burnham," Georgiou says. 

Alone in the corridor, Michael takes a breath, centering herself. She's got this. Georgiou wouldn't have put her in charge if she couldn't handle it. It's just a few days. She can read Georgiou's notes before going to sleep, and she will have to sleep because oh-six-hundred will be here in no time.  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippa tries to cope with being sick and not having anything to do. Michael finds out more about her captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to Maria, Tina and Sha for helping making sure this sounded like them.

_ Philippa _

She overslept. It's the first thought and makes her immediately so tense that Philippa sits up before she remembers why she didn't have an alarm. Her head swims, and she holds onto the wall beside her bed before she reluctantly lies back down. Curling on her side, she waits for her body to feel functional, maybe even cooperative. 

When she wakes again the lights in her quarters are brighter, simulating day because she didn't ask them not to. They're still at warp. She swings her feet over, and this time sits up slowly, with a degree of caution she never uses with anything as simple as getting out of bed. Her vision fades a little, but clears and she gets to her feet. How many years has it been since she was truly ill with something? Was she even on  _ Shenzhou _ last time? 

Philippa walks to the table, the PADD she left there glows with her unread messages. The last time she didn't check them immediately was shore leave. Dr. Nambue left a note that he'll beam in her breakfast whenever she wakes up. He'll probably put that terrible green juice on her tray again, but he'll never know if she doesn't drink it. Will he? 

She taps the PADD, even though she could probably go to the Mess Hall and get her own breakfast or ask one of the beta shift crew to grab it on their way. This is easier, and it doesn't bother anyone. Dr. Nambue probably likes to know she's awake and functioning. Her breakfast appears neatly on her table, including that frustrating green juice, and she stares at the tray. She needs to eat, but none of it even really looks like food. Philippa knows it is, but none of it appeals at all. She picks up the glass of water and drinks that first. 

She picks up one of the books from the shelf and takes that to the table. Since she's not the captain, all the messages for the captain of  _ Shenzhou _ are on Michael's PADD, not hers and she has no personal correspondence to worry about. 

Her messages are never empty, but they are. She picks at her fruit, lazily eating part of an orange while she opens the book and tries to remember the plot. Several minutes later she has no idea who the characters are and only the vaguest thought about the plotline, so she returns to the beginning of the book. She's wanted to read this book for months, and it's potentially even been years since she got it. She can't remember. 

Her communicator beeps. "Former Captain Georgiou?" 

"Very funny, Doctor," she replies, opening it up on the table. 

"Care to take your vitals for me?"

Rolling her eyes a little, she opens her tricorder and lets it scan her. Tapping a few buttons sends that to sickbay and she shuts her book without replacing the bookmark. She'll have to start from the beginning again. Not that she's following anything. 

"How do you feel?"

"Foggy."

"That's to be expected, the fever suppressors are keeping your symptoms down, but your immune system is still fighting this off. You'll feel terrible until that's done."

Philippa chuckles a little and looks at the tricorder. "Any idea when that will be?"

"You're still off duty."

"Yes, Doctor."

"I'll beam in your lunch in a few hours. Find something boring to do." 

Philippa rolls her eyes and he can probably hear it. He's been her CMO long enough. 

* * *

At some point she fell asleep. Philippa's not sure when, or for how long, but her neck is stiff when the chime of a message drags her awake. It takes the computer chiming again before she answers. 

Philippa blinks, then rubs her eyes, wishing they'd focus better. "Kat, you're--"

"You look like hell." Kat starts, leaning closer to her screen.

"Tarkelean fever," Philippa yawns into her hand.

"Imagine my surprise when  _ Shenzhou's _ captain, who barely uses her shore leave, and hasn't taken a sick day in over-" Kat pauses double checking something on the PADD in her hand- "Five hundred sixty-one days, is actually taking the time to recover." 

"That long?" Philippa tries to sit up a little more. Why is she on the couch? What was she doing? "I--" she sighs, losing the thought. "Is Michael all right?"

Kat chuckles a little. "I don't think I've seen anyone sit so perfectly in the captain's chair." 

"Oh?"

"Her posture was so exact that she could have been a statue of a captain at Starfleet headquarters."

Philippa smiles, picturing Michael in the command chair with her unmoving Vulcan posture. She laughs with Kat, shaking her head. "I can see that." 

"It's a dirty trick springing the big chair on her." Kat leans closer, studying her through the screen. "But you're really sick this time, aren't you?" 

"I'm fine," falls from her mouth before Philippa stops herself. " Actually, I can't remember what I'm doing."

"That happens when you're sick."

Where's her tea? She sits up, lowering her feet to the floor. The cup of tea on the table is cold when she takes a sip. She's been asleep for some time. "It's dreadful. Can't follow a book."

"Watch holos."

Philippa rests her hands on her knees. "Watch holos?"

"Reading takes conscious thought, your eyes have to move, your mind has to construct the story. Holos are less effort."

"Says the admiral who hasn't taken a sick day for--"

"Far longer than her dear captains, including the stubborn ones." Kat sets down her Padd and looks right at her. "You're not good at this, and I know you're unaccustomed to meeting anything you're not good at, so be patient." 

Taking another sip of her cold tea, Philippa nods. "I let it get too far last night."

"Oh?"

Philippa looks down, then back up at her old friend. "Michael had to walk me to sickbay and I threw up on her boots."

Kat chuckles sympathetically. "When you wanted to try out your previous first officer in the chair, what did you get?" 

"What?"

"Last time you were sick, it was right before you suggested Commander ch'Theloh was ready for a promotion."

"No I--"

"What was it then? Concussion? Pneumonia?"

Rolling her eyes, Philippa shakes her head. "Allergic reaction."

"Right, right, total accident."

"It was!"

Something chimes in Kat's office and she sighs. "Back to work I'm afraid, don't throw up on poor Commander Burnham any more than you need to."

"Thank you for calling."

"I'm serious about the holos, it'll help time pass and it'll give you less of a headache." Kat picks up one of her PADDs and trades it for another. "Rest, Philippa."

"Yes ma'am."

Smiling once more, Kat nods and shuts the channel. 

Philippa stares at the blank screen for a moment, smiling at the idea of Michael taking  _ Shenzhou's _ briefing. She'll have to ask about that. Picking up one of her PADDs, she opens up the library of holographic entertainment. How long has it been since she just sat and watched something? She hasn't been that busy, surely she's-- Philippa can't remember. She scrolls through lazily, looking for something that will take enough of her attention to be interesting, but not demand she use too much of her mind. 

She chooses one and the music starts as she sits back down. Kat's right, it's been far too long since she sat and watched something without doing tai chi or finishing inventory and requisition lists. It's not that she doesn't have fun, she spars with Michael and Nambue, works on combat tactics with Saru, eats with her crew, goes to their poetry nights and recitals. She has time for things that are pleasant. 

Just not this kind of empty time. Kat's right, she's terrible at this. 

Somewhere after the first beautiful fight she falls asleep again, and Philippa wakes when the hero and her tragic love are already on their journey and she's missed something and she has to pee and standing this time takes a moment or two to find her balance. She's getting better, healing, why is she getting weaker? That doesn't make sense. Is she missing something? 

Her door chimes and the holo pauses automatically. 

"Come," she says, reaching for her lukewarm tea. 

Michael stands in the doorway, a tray from the mess hall in her hands. "Brought you dinner, and I left out the green juice because I know how much you hate it."

"I don't--" Philippa stops protesting. She loathes it but she thought she hid it better. "Thank you." She sits up, finishing her tea and pouring some more. "Come in, please. How was your day, captain?"

Michael chuckles, setting the tray down on the table. "Captain is still very much not me, no matter how many times everyone around me said it." She looks at the holo for a moment and smiles. "Glad you found something to do."

"I might need to start it again," Philippa says, sighing. She rubs her forehead and stares at the floor for a moment before she looks up at Michael.

"How are you feeling?"

Philippa looks at Michael's warm smile and sighs. "How's your ship?"

"My ship?" Michael repeats, still shell shocked. " _ Shenzhou _ is fine, running smoothly, every department seems to have gone out of their way to be helpful."

"That's the first thing to go when you're no longer the acting captain," Philippa teases, pulling her blanket closer. Is it cold in her quarters? 

"I'm sure," Michael takes a moment, smiling, then it fades. "Saru and I are--"

Philippa winces. "I didn't tell him--"

"He's not happy about it."

"I barely got my boots off before I fell asleep..."

"Well, you obviously should have informed your science officer that you would be leaving your less than prepared first officer in command."

Philippa rolls her eyes, somewhere between "I'll try to remember that next time."

"I told him you vomited."

"You seem to be telling everyone."

"It was a first, for me, Captain-"

"Philippa."

Michael nods, smiling sheepishly. "Philippa."

"Or Pippa, if we're drinking."

"You can't drink."

"Today, I can't drink, when this is done--" Philippa says, dragging herself up. She wants to take the blanket to the table, but she shouldn't. 

"Stay there, I'll bring your food."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" Michael leaves her dinner on the table and walks closer, she reaches out, then touches Philippa's forehead. "Your fever's back."

"No I"m--" That's what's wrong. "Dammit."

Michael pulls a hypospray from her pocket. "Dr. Nambue thought it might return."

"What is this virus?"

"Tenacious." Michael holds the hypospray up to her neck and injects her. "Were you working?"

Philippa sits back down, pulling her blanket around her. "No, I tried to read, talked to Kat."

"Kat?" Michael asks, bewildered. 

"Admiral Cornwell," Philippa explains. "We went to the Academy together, have I told you?"

"You mentioned you were familiar. I'm just not used to admirals having first names." Michael sets her bowl on the table in front of her and then takes away the cold tea, refilling the pot and starting again. "I can leave you to your holo--"

"Eat with me, tell me about your day."

"Really?"

Philippa nods patting the sofa beside her. "You can watch this with me and tell me the plot."

"You don't know?"

"I'm not really sure what's happening."

"Must be delirious."

"I'm sure I'm imagining you being here."

Michael looks at her, really looks into her, then smiles. "You definitely are, I'm still in the ready room, doing too much work."

Philippa rolls her eyes and picks up her soup. The fever suppressor seems to have lifted some of the fog in her head. "Isn't that what captains do?"

"It's what I hear anyway."

"It's important to have balance, do things for yourself, or you're burnt out when the day starts."

Michael laughs over her dinner. "What good advice."

Philippa starts the holo again. "It's excellent advice that I've received many times." 

"And follow when it suits you?"

"That's the fun of being captain." 

Watching the holo is much more pleasant with Michael, who has never watched wuxia holos from Earth before. Philippa's mentioned them, hasn't she? Have they talked about what they do in their free time? 

The far too heroic characters keep choosing duty over love and she would never tear up on an ordinary day, she's just tired, and her emotions are too close. Michael passes her a napkin when she tears up at the end. 

"Have you seen this before?" Michael asks, tilting her head in that very Vulcan way of hers. 

"I have, but it was many years ago."

"Too busy?"

"It seems I was-" she starts, and then stops. "It reminds me of my husband."

"You don't talk about him much."

Philippa pats her eyes dry and pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "He died when the Breen took Starbase Fourteen."

Michael nods, but her posture softens a little. "I read that in your file."

"He was waiting for me," Philippa says, looking out at the stars outside her quarters. "We had a trip planned, so he was meeting me there, and  _ Shenzhou _ arrived in a firefight."

"Your tragedy."

"One of a few," she says, smiling at Michael. "We were already arguing about how much I focused on my career, how much of me the ship got."

"It can be everything," Michael says, leaning back. "My parents, my biological parents, I mean, their work was intense, and we had time together, but their work was everything. Starfleet, it's like that for you." That's an observation, not a question. 

"For many." Philippa turns, meeting Michael's eyes. "I know few captains who balance their lives, and many, many more who don't." 

"If I'm going to continue--"

"You should decide what you want."

Michael raises an eyebrow. "Now?"

Philippa chuckles and reaches for Michael's shoulder. "Not now, just keep it in the back of your head. You can be a wonderful scientist in Starfleet and see the most beautiful things, and take your holidays, have a life. If you become a captain, it's different, still beautiful, but different."

Michael accepts that with a nod, standing up. "You end up having no idea what to do with yourself if you have a day off." She collects the dishes from the table, and seems to be about to leave without commenting further, which wouldn't surprise Philippa, but Michael pauses. "Where were you supposed to go?"

"What?"

"Your trip, with your husband?"

The question shouldn't sting, but it's an old wound. Her thoughts snap back to saying goodbye to Nikos, promising to be back in a few days before they went to Earth. Danger should have found her, not him. She devoted her life to Starfleet and Nikos was a civilian. He would have been somewhere safe if he hadn't been waiting for her. "Home."

Michael thinks for a moment, getting that look. "Malaysia?"

TThe smell of the ocean is a pleasant memory, even if Nikos' death makes it ache. "Pulau Langkawi, it's famous for its beaches." 

"And you haven't gone since?"

"I have not." Philippa stands, stretching. Her eyes sting again, but there's no point in fighting it. "I didn't see the point of going by myself."

Michael nods, thinking that over. Instead of pressing, she kindly changes the subject. "Shall I bring you dinner tomorrow?"

"Save me from my exile?"

"Something like that."

"I'd like that, goodnight, Captain." 

Michael smiles, that bright, very human smile, that Philippa sees so rarely. "Goodnight." 

* * *

The next day is much less disconcerting. In fact, Philippa finally catches up on her correspondence, writing Una, Kat, and even her family on Earth that she's sometimes very bad at keeping in touch with. Michael brings her dinner and stories of arguing with Saru. Somehow she also reorganized the way engineering does inventory, and it's much more efficient. Slow day on the bridge. Philippa would not have spent her time on something so detailed, but her chief engineer seems happy with it. 

She asks Michael to choose a holo and they end up watching one of the more ridiculous ones from Hong Kong but Michael's never gone down this strange road and they pause it a few times so Philippa can explain it. 

"I haven't been to much of Earth, I met Sarek and Amanda in Paris, but we didn't travel. I think Amanda would have liked too, but we were always on a schedule."

"Earth is beautiful, so many cultures and languages, so much history. I grew up there and I feel like I haven't seen much of it." She finishes her ice cream and sets it down. "It's a different pace of life."

"Living on Earth?"

"Not being in Starfleet, or I imagine being a Vulcan Ambassador."

"Or a scientist." Michael's taken much longer to eat her own dessert and she toys with her spoon. "I have been thinking about what you said."

"I didn't mean-"

"You were right to say it, or warn me, however you want to put it. Being a Starfleet officer is one kind of life, a good life, a Starfleet captain is something else."

"It's a heavy burden."

"Oh I know, it's all I've been able to think about." 

"I would have given you more time to prepare--"

Michael waves that off, smiling. "Oh no, this was probably better, sorry you got sick--"

Philippa's not, but she smiles back instead of saying it aloud. "Too much time to prepare might have been a burden of its own."

"You feel them, in the chair, on the bridge: all the lives in your care."

"You do." 

"And you have to take care of them."

"And yourself."

"Right."

"You'll do better than I have."

"I wouldn't know what to do with a sick day either," Michael admits, finally taking a bite of her ice cream. "What made you decide you wanted to be a captain?"

Philippa rolls her head on her shoulders, remembering drinking and joking at the Academy. "I used to say I didn't have a choice, my family is full of explorers, and being a captain is the best view of the galaxy anyone could ask for."

"So you decided early?"

"First time that I stood on the bridge," Philippa says, beaming. "I looked at the chair and knew."

"Ambition is a different thing on Vulcan. No one at the Science Academy wants to captain a Vulcan ship."

"The captain doesn't get to do enough research?"

"It's a tedious necessity to have a leader."

Philippa laughs, shaking her head. "It's that here too."

"But?"

"It's the best view."

"Even when it's lonely?"

"We're all lonely, just in different ways, at different times. It keeps us seeking each other." 

Michael nods again, but she's too young for that to sink in yet, no matter how wise her eyes are. Sometimes Philippa forgets that this is Michael's first assignment, her first journey out into the vastness of space. Michael bids her goodnight. 

Instead of drifting to sleep immediately, Philippa lies in bed, watching the stars outside of her window. The stars have been home for her adult life, even more so after she lost Nikos and everything that could have come with him. She had  _ Shenzhou's _ deck under her feet when her life shifted away from love and family. She loves her crew, and her ship, but it's another kind of love. More consuming and softer at the same time. 

She never went home to Malaysia. She took her time to grieve in space, attended all the counseling sessions, and she moved on. She's all right, she knows that. She trusts herself, but she's let that slip away. When she falls asleep, she dreams of beaches and the sun setting over the sea. 

* * *

On the third day, Philippa finally wakes up without a fever. After checking in with the duty nurse in Sickbay to make sure she's no longer contagious, Philippa goes to the gym. Afterwards she takes a shower, and reaches for her uniform, but dresses in her civilian clothes. Michael is the captain today, and she won't take that from her. Philippa takes the time to walk her ship, to be invisible among her crew, because they need to look for longer than a moment to realize she's not some civilian scientist they picked up on the planet. 

The uniform means so much more than any of them usually admit. Dr. Nambue gives her a look in the mess hall, but agreeing to accompany him to sickbay softens his glare. She's herself again.

She could take the ship back after lunch, but Philippa allows herself the freedom of the afternoon.  _ Shenzhou's _ in good hands with Michael. She can feel it in the crew. 

When she's done wandering her ship, Philippa sits down to write to her aunt in Malaysia. They talk, especially on holidays, but she hasn't mentioned wanting to visit since Nikos died, and her family stopped asking years ago. 

_ Shenzhou _ has a scheduled baryon sweep and nacelle overhaul in a few months, and that's several weeks where she won't need a captain or first officer. It's a good time. Asking Michael to go with her makes it real, because she can't just become busy and stay in space. Even if she decides she wants to.

Michael tries to hand back command before dinner, but Philippa waves her off. They make the formal declaration to the computer during dessert, and when she's captain again, Philippa opens her bottle of wine.

"You must be feeling better."

"As boring as resting is, it has a purpose." 

"I heard you were up and about today."

Philippa smirks. Her last first officer was not this maternal. "I wanted to see how the crew was doing under your command."

"And?"

"They worked well, efficient and content."

Michael accepts a glass of wine with a shrug. "We spent two days at warp and one studying a comet, I can't really take any credit." 

"I spend most of my days sorting paperwork and trying to calm interdepartmental squabbling over our sensor allocation tables." Philippa sets the bottle down and lifts her glass. "To the first successful voyager of Captain Burnham."

" _ Acting _ Captain Burnham," Michael corrects. 

"Today, yes, but not forever, if that's what you want."

Michael clinks their glasses together. "I do."

She thought so. "Then we'll work towards that, you and I."

Taking a sip, Michael raises her eyebrows. "Real wine." 

"I have my sources."

"We're not telling Dr. Nambue?"

Smirking a little, Philippa takes another sip, relishing the wine on her tongue. "Captain's prerogative, now that I'm captain again." 

That earns a laugh. Michael takes another sip, then sighs, finally relaxing for the first time since the ready room three days ago. "You're welcome to it."

"You only say that because now you've done the paperwork."

"We should share that more," Michael says. "I have a few ideas how you could delegate some of it to me."

"Oh?"

"They're on your desk in the ready room."

"Thank you, number one."

"Of course. I enjoyed that part, organizing it all." Michael's gaze flicks up towards the bridge. "Does it get easier?"

Philippa finishes her wine, and pours them both more. "It gets comfortable. The paperwork becomes routine, but the weight doesn't go away. Nor should it when lives depend on you."

Nodding, Michael rests her hands on the table. She takes a breath, then smiles. "It's lighter when they aren't."

Philippa touches her glass, better to just say it, keep herself from being able to back out. "I've booked a trip to Earth, to Malaysia, while  _ Shenzhou's _ having her refit in s few months."

Michael smiles, really smiles. "Glad you're finally taking some shore leave. It'll be good to go back."

"I'm leaving Saru in charge of the refit, so he can be acting captain for a while too."

"He'll appreciate that." What Michael doesn't say is how much Saru will make life difficult for her. They'll be at each other's throats for weeks if she stays. 

Philippa sits back, smiling. "Come with me. See more of Earth than stuffy old Paris." 

Tilting her head in surprise, Michael stares at her. 

"I promise Malaysia's more fun than Starfleet Headquarters, or refitting the nacelles. You can do that when you have your own ship."

Michael lifts her wine glass and smirks. "Or have my second officer oversee it."

"Now you're thinking like a captain." 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
